


Disastrously Perfect

by savant (teii)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Luna Lovegood & Neville Longbottom Friendship, Fluff, HP Fluff Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hospitalization, Humor, Idiots to idiotic lovers, It's not like they got any smarter folks, M/M, POV Neville, Peacocks, Pining, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Ridiculous Pureblood Traditions, mentions of injury, overly dramatic draco, unnecessary demands for pyres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teii/pseuds/savant
Summary: Neville figured that whatever was going on between Harry and Draco, he could quietly keep out of the way, observe from a safe distance, and let fate run its course.Luna, however, has other plans.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 134
Collections: HP Fluff Fest 2020





	Disastrously Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much to my alpha Erlas and beta Kaiu for being incredibly kind, smart, and patient and making this fic so much better with their input. ♡
> 
> Thank you to the mods for all the hard work it took to get this fest up and running!

“There we go,” Neville hums, as he attaches a parcel to a docile Barn Owl, patiently letting Neville make a few extra knots to ensure it wouldn’t fall off its leg. Apothecaries around the greater London area were all stocking their shelves with pepperup potions in preparation for winter, which in turn meant Neville had been sending out boxes of mandrake roots to dozens of clients to keep up with the demand. He opens the front door to let out the owl, watching as it stutters in midair, recalibrating its balance now weighed down by the package, before soaring up into London’s murky skies.

Neville groans, stretching as he comes back into his shop, feeling his neck crack slightly at the movement. It’s been a long day, but he’s finished for the day, and there’s pub night later on that he’s looking forward to.

He’s cleaning up for the day when his third most frequent visitor pops in, head held high and back ramrod straight. Neville raises a hand in greeting, too used to his client’s weird mannerisms to pay them any special attention .

Neville couldn’t exactly call him a friend, but Malfoy was at least much more civil now than when they were in school, even deigning to compliment him every so often on the quality of his potion ingredients.

Malfoy approaches the counter, hands behind his back, looking haughty and severe in his rich purple St. Mungo’s potioneer robes. 

“Two pickings of Everlilies, Longbottom.”

Neville frowns, casting tempus just in case. “It’s nearly half past five, Malfoy.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Malfoy sniffs.

Neville shrugs. “Just...and I’m sure you already know this, but Everlilies will wither in under two hours, you’ll need to brew the potion immediately once—”

“Which I _will_. Thank you for your deep concern, Longbottom.”

Neville nods sympathetically. “Boss got you on overtime?”

Malfoy looks taken aback, confused at the question. “No? I’m just…” He grimaces, not making eye contact, “Just felt like restocking some potions before inventory check in a week’s time.” It’s a flimsy excuse, not one Neville ever thought he’d hear out of a prideful Malfoy.

What it all boiled down to was this: Malfoy had nothing to do and nowhere to go on a Friday night, opting to stay late and do more work instead.

Still, Neville’s pretty sure Malfoy would squawk in outrage if he invited him out to the pub with his old Gryffindor classmates, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut. He scribbles down the amount to bill to St. Mungo’s in the morning, cross-checking his inventory sheet, as well.

“Anything else?” He asks as he hands over the bright and pungent flowers, though their edges were already fraying into a dull brown.

Draco frowns, as if thinking it over. “No. I suppose not.”

* * *

Harry is his second most frequent visitor, and possibly the most enthusiastic. Neville’s more than happy to accommodate, especially since Harry quietly admitted that he can barely get into the office tearoom without being accosted by a fawning coworker.

“Warmest place in Britain, most likely.” Harry sighs, as he happily pulls off his scarf, the snow on it melting immediately in the balmy heat of the greenhouse. “No need to cast warming charms every half hour.”

“Nice to see you too, Harry,” Neville rolls his eyes, but tempers it with a grin.

Harry laughs. “Can’t fault a bloke for wanting his extremities intact. Ministry’s got the galleons for everything but researching better warming spells for buildings.” He makes his way to the makeshift tea garden Neville had haphazardly fashioned out of leftover gardening crates and a slab of plywood on a trash bin serving as their table. Neville’s never seen anyone so happy squatting on a flimsy crate that looked like it could buckle at any second.

Neville leaves him there to attend to the kettle he has on the small, two burner stove behind a wall of Saturnalia ferns. The tea he brews is strong and sweet, just the way he knows Harry likes it, and he pours it into a well-worn mug that Harry had unofficially claimed as his own.

“It’s brilliant, really, I know I’m a broken record by now, but this really is fantastic, the things muggles come up with,” Neville gushes, as he comes back, levitating Harry’s mug straight into his hand as he shakes a thermos, sitting across from Harry on his own flimsy crate. Harry had apologized for giving him such a boring, ordinary gift for his birthday, but Neville loved it, impressed at its ability to keep his tea good and hot for the better part of the day without the rigamarole of having to perpetually cast warming charms over it. It was especially useful during the planting seasons when he had little to no time to sit down, much less take his tea.

“And you tell me I’m easy to please.’ Harry laughs. “Honestly though, this beats out so many cafes—a good friend, beautiful scenery, and no interrupt—”

“Longbottom? You in?”

Harry stills, mug halfway to his lips as he shoots Neville with a wide-eyed stare. “What’s he doing here?” Harry manages to hiss out before Malfoy comes into view, staring down at both men.

“Longbottom. Potter.” Malfoy greets, calm and even, though he can’t hide how his hands close into fists, eyes wary.

Neville looks between the two of them. “Would…you like to join us?” Neville offers, his eyes flickering towards Harry.

Malfoy flinches, looking away. “I really wouldn’t want to impose…”

“No, have a seat,” Neville offers, getting up from his own crate and gesturing for Malfoy to take his place. Malfoy stares at him, as if waiting for the fallout, but after a few seconds of playing statue, he stiffly squeezes his way into the nook, gingerly sitting down on the overturned wooden crate away from a small bit of mud near his expensive loafers.

A wheezing hiss emits from the far side of the greenhouse, and Neville gives his guests a lopsided grin. “Um, right, I have to go take care of that. Make yourselves at home, yeah?” he says before power walking off.

It occurs to Neville a little belatedly that he might not have an intact greenhouse by the end of the afternoon leaving them alone like this, but he walks off, not daring to look back.

It’s another thirty minutes before he’s finally calmed the stinging nettles, though it did come at the cost of his robes being completely speared through. Neville sighs. At least these ones were ready for the bin anyways.

He gasps, suddenly remembering his wayward guests, and realizing he hasn’t heard any yelling or fights or…anything really.

“Oh bloody hell, they might be dead, hexed each other to oblivion,” Neville mumbles to himself in dawning horror, nervously wiping his hands down his front as he shuffles his way towards the sitting area, dreading the worst.

What he finds is a lot more baffling.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter laughing.

_Together_.

Neville rubs his eyes, just in case.

But no, they were still there. With Harry regaling a ridiculous tale from one of his cases, complete with all the hand motions and sound effects, his arms spread wide as he imitates a loud explosion.

Malfoy attempts to keep a straight face, but the smirk on his face gives him away as he listens raptly, eyes shining bright in amusement.

“Seems like something you should have figured out beforehand, Potter,” Malfoy drawls with a sly smirk.

Harry laughs in kind, “sod off, Malfoy... like you would have done any better.”

“I should think that not sticking my entire arm into a volatile cauldron would have been quite the basic assumption to make.” Malfoy shakes his head.

“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” Neville casually asks, and they both jump, with Malfoy looking away sheepishly. Harry distractedly casts a tempus and pales.

“SHIT!” He jolts up, nearly tripping on one of the crates in his haste to get his cloak hanging by the entrance, tearing it off the hook.

“Shacklebolt’s going to have my head—” Harry groans, quickly pulling on his cloak as he yells, “totally lost track of time- I’ll see you later Neville! Malfoy!”

Malfoy’s tea has barely been touched, and he looks over at the door with such longing that Neville actually feels bad for him. He sidles over, placing a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “I can let you know if Harry pops by?”

Malfoy stiffens, his eyes widening a bit at being caught mooning over the Auror, before turning his head. “That will absolutely not be necessary, Longbottom. Now, if you will excuse me.” Malfoy makes a big show of brushing his hands over his spotless cloak even as his face is burning, before vanishing with a pop.

Neville shrugs. At least he offered.

* * *

Malfoy comes again the next day, ten minutes before three. He’s rocking on his heels, decked in expensive dress robes that absolutely were not befitting a visit to a greenhouse.

Neville sighs and decides not to humor Malfoy with a useless query of why he’s here. Best to rip the band aid off immediately.

He nods to his guest, with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Malfoy. If Harry has the time, he generally comes by on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he tells Malfoy, who looks torn between wanting to deny it and the abject embarrassment about being so thoroughly transparent, that he turns 180 degrees and disapparates without having to look at Neville.

“‘Hello’ or ‘goodbye’ would’ve been nice!” Neville yells at where Malfoy was just standing.

* * *

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Neville murmurs as he finds a sizable mountain of sweets on the flimsy plywood table, already dangerously tilted towards one side, as Harry unwraps a chocolate slab and bites off a square. “Did you break and finally buy a chocolatier?”

Harry sighs. “Someone at the office had deigned my six month anniversary of being an Auror as a cause for celebration. I think they just wanted an excuse to eat cake during office hours.” Harry points towards the stack. “There’s a pack of chocolate covered berries somewhere in there.”

Neville’s eyes light up, and he shucks off his dirt-encrusted gloves to dig into the pile, holding up the little packages one by one to read their labels. “Lots of peppermint, I suppose it’s leftovers from Christmas?”

Neville finally finds the berries and rips open the bag, offering it to Harry so he could take some before tipping a few out onto his hand and popping one in his mouth, delighted at the sweet and tart combination. 

Harry similarly tilts his slab of chocolate bark for Neville to snap off a piece, and Neville groans in contentment as he pops the chunk into his mouth. He didn’t have as big of a sweet tooth as Harry, but there was something innately comforting about swapping chocolates with friends, reminding him of his early school years.

“Did your hoard of fans forget what day it is, Potter? Valentines is still a month away.” Malfoy hums as he walks in, looking at the two grown men with their mouths crammed full of chocolate. Neville doesn’t miss the way Harry blushes, trying to scrub off the bit of chocolate next to his mouth, missing, and smearing it onto his nose instead. Malfoy raises an eyebrow at the move.

“Harry received a participation award for going to work for six months,” Neville explains.

“If only we were all so lucky.” Malfoy leans into the pile, staring critically at the offerings, plucking one off the table and unceremoniously dropping it onto the floor. “Trash.” He judges, continuing to sift through the pile, shoving other confectionaries off the table as he dives deeper. “Boring.”

Malfoy sighs. “Does anyone in the Ministry have working tastebuds? _Honestly_.” He raises an elegant eyebrow, finally seeing something of interest.

“Here we are,” Draco announces, picking up one thin block, looking down appreciatively at the gold packaging before picking at the corner to peel it away. “Something not completely plebeian.” He waves the half unwrapped chocolate around as a prize, smirking. “I’ll be taking this all for my own, thank you.” He misses the way Harry’s eyes light up at the challenge.

Harry shoots out a hand, determined to snap a piece of Draco’s coveted chocolate before he gets the chance to bite down on it, but all he manages to successfully do is brush his fingers against Draco’s lips. Harry pulls back his hand as if burned.

“Sorry! I thought--”

“I hardly believe you were thinking at all, Potter,” Malfoy snipes, even as his face turns red.

Neville presses his lips together, trying to not outright laugh, though he can’t help a snort escaping.

“Anything funny happen, Longbottom?” Draco icily asks, snapping the chocolate in half with his hands.

Neville looks over to Harry, who’s brushing his thumb over the back of his fingers that had made contact with Draco’s lips, and tilts his head to direct Draco’s attention to the movement. 

“Iunno, you tell me, Malfoy.”

* * *

“C’mon Malfoy, it can’t possibly be that bad,” Neville sighs. It’s been an hour after Harry’s gone back home, and yet Malfoy’s still staring into the middle distance.

“Longbottom, pray, please don’t spend all your time hovering over me, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You are keeping me from closing up shop.” Neville bluntly admits, though he frowns. “You sure you’re alright, Malfoy? Not even a cuppa?”

Malfoy fidgets, before acquising. “Rooibos? For my nerves.”

Neville shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t have any in the greenhouse, stuff puts me straight to sleep.”

“ _Wonderful_ .’ Draco sniffs. “Potter’s going to be the death of me, that ignoramus. Who just--” Draco waves a hand about, frustrated, “ _does_ that?”

“If you could ponder that in the comfort of your own home, Malfoy, that would be grand.” Neville sighs.

Malfoy gets up, snagging his uneaten chocolate as he mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowing as he makes towards the front of the shop.

* * *

It’s Harry who’s flustered the next time he Apparates in, doing his damndest not to look behind every nook as if Malfoy was hiding there.

“If you can stay put for one second, Harry,” Neville lightly teases, “you’d might not be so worked up when Malfoy actually gets here.”

Harry shakes his head. “He’s actually not as big of a git as I thought he’d be? Who knew.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Neville diplomatically responds, just as tell-tale pop of Apparition heralds Malfoy’s entrance.

It’s impossible not to notice the way Harry’s eyes lit up, in a way that Neville hasn’t seen since Harry officially became an Auror, and Neville takes another sip of his strong tea, happy for Harry, even if said source of happiness came from an unlikely source.

* * *

“It’s fantastic, what you’ve done with the place, Neville,” Luna hums, clutching her gigantic mug of lotus root, rhodiola, and nettle tea and taking tiny, precise sips from it. A deep, muddy earthiness emanates from it, and Neville’s nose twitches every so often at the scent wafting towards him.

“Thanks, figured I should make it more appealing for guests and the like.” He spent the better part of last weekend hauling in old furniture that his grandmother despised out of her house, with her blessings. Absolutely nothing matched and it took Neville the better part of an afternoon airing out the musty cushions alone, but in the glow of twilight, it made the little corner look ethereal, high backed chairs and a handsome, if worn, leather sofa surrounded by greenery.

Luna has been and still is his most frequent visitor since day one, though she comes and goes at her own whim, citing that she writes her best pieces when palm leaves drape against her shoulder and the air is thick with the smell of damp soil and growth. Neville doesn’t question it, but simply dragged a sturdy writing table in, stashing a couple of extra quills and ink pots into the drawers and tucks it into a sunny corner, happy to have her over.

“It’s so lovely in here, especially in the winter,” she says, her periwinkle and mauve dress pooling around her ankles as she leans back on the gigantic couch cushion, “I think you could charge people for afternoon tea in here.”

“And wait for one of them to accidentally wander off and get their foot chewed off by a Fanged Geranium?” Neville crunches on a slim almond snap that Luna brought over, snapping off a corner to feed to said geranium by his feet.

“That’s true,” Luna acquiesces, “most people just simply don’t know how to sing them to sleep.”

Suddenly something catches the witch’s eye, and she turns her head towards the entrance. Neville follows her gaze to find Malfoy hovering near the entrance again, trying to not be so obvious about peering in. Neville thinks for a moment, taking another sip from his thermos. It _was_ Thursday, wasn’t it.

“Oh! Hello, Draco,” Luna greets sweetly, patting the bright red cushion seat beside her. “Won’t you join us for tea? I baked almond snaps! I even took out the pebbles this time.”

The excitement in Malfoy’s eyes dims when he realizes it’s only Luna and Neville, and he fidgets. “I—er, no, that’s quite alright,” Malfoy stumbles out, “Just thought I would need to check in on the Englewood blossoms Longbottom promised me a while back. Seeing as you’re all busy, I’ll just--” He makes some wishy-washy hand movements, before turning tail back towards the entrance.

Neville does his best not to roll his eyes, though his best was half-arsed. He gave Malfoy six months’ worth of blossoms via owl just last week. Funny, how much Malfoy was willing to lie to save face.

“Strange... I wonder what’s wrong,” she frowns, turning to face Neville, her mismatched seaweed-and-bread-tab earrings twirling along with her movements.

“It’s because we’re not national celebrities, Lunes, sorry.” Neville explains nonchalantly. As if on cue, a loud crash along with a strangled yelp follows. Neville winces, the sound of glass and ceramic smashing onto the floor. Merlin, he is going to have to have a ball cleaning that up.

“Oh! But we can certainly invite Harry, can’t we? He’s a celebrity,” Luna brightens as if she solved a particularly tricky riddle, already taking out her wand to send their friend an impromptu invite via Patronus.

Another crash sounds out, this time a terrific splash accompanying it. Neville pushes himself up, hands on his thighs as he groans.

“For Godric’s sake…” Neville sighs, going around the bend to survey the damage. “I’m trying to run a business, and I can’t do that with you—,” Neville takes a moment to shield his eyes away from the leafy carnage, “turning my storefront into your personal sulking lounge.”

“What’s all this?” Luna floats over next to Neville, as she looks back and forth from Neville and Malfoy, her giant mug levitating behind her.

“Malfoy cares _very_ much about teatime with Harry.” Neville explains, using the distinctly pureblood euphemism and tilting his head towards the soaking wet wizard lying prone in the middle of his shop, bested by gravity.

Luna’s eyes widen, completely starstruck by the revelation, as she whips back towards Malfoy splayed out as a heap on the floor, his eyes vacant as if in the middle of a particularly aggressive existential crisis.

“You’re in love with Harry!”

Malfoy covers his eyes with an arm, using the other to feebly wave it over his head. “Well, Longbottom, do be kind and prepare my last rites along with a decently sized funeral pyre since there’s nothing left for me to live for.”

“Ah yes, the traditional, Malfoy clan funeral pyre. I’ll get right on that,” Neville clips, and Malfoy points a foot in his direction.

“Don’t sass a dead man, Longbottom, it’s impolite.” A pause. “You’ll also need to get in contact with my solicitor. Get a quill out and write this down—”

Neville leans against the doorframe, smiling, “You’re not dying, Malfoy, it’s called being embarrassed for having a crush.”

The mangled, drawn out moan is defiance incarnate, and Neville wonders why he’s even bothering to argue.

“Oh, but is being in love all that bad?” Luna asks, already cleaning up the glass and sopping up the water from the vase that Malfoy upturned.

Malfoy pulls his arm slightly out of his face to pin Luna a weary look, “it is when you realize you’re not any better than a middle-aged witch off the street giggling over the latest Witch Weekly exposé.”

Luna kneels next to Malfoy, eyes bright. “Unlike them, you actually have a shot.”

Malfoy ditches the wounded, distressed belle act, as he pushes himself up by the elbows, glaring at her, “I absolutely do _not_.”

“You do! Especially since Neville and I will help you.”

“We will?” Neville blanches.

“We will!” Luna beams. Neville’s simultaneously horrified and proud of his best friend. God, she is completely out of her mind, trying to meddle in Malfoy’s affairs. She was essentially signing her own death sentence with a calligrapher’s flair.

“She won’t take ‘no’ for an answer either. Please don’t hex us if it doesn’t work,” Neville brackets for her, and Luna has her hands clasped, pinning Malfoy with such an optimistic grin that the man nods dumbly in return.

Neville gives him a pitying grin. The poor bastard has no idea what he’s in for.

* * *

“So we need a plan of action.” Draco says, once dried and sitting primly on a couch cushion, dead serious.

“Action? Aren’t we just going to, you know...” Neville shrugs. He’s never done much gathering intel on crushes for his friends back at Hogwarts, but he’s pretty sure it’s fairly straightforward. “Just like…ask Harry what he thinks of you?”

Malfoy looks aghast. “Why would I ever want to know that?”

Neville blinks. “So you can know if he fancies you back?”

“Unnecessary. He’d be completely daft to harbor any modicum of feelings. What we should really focus on is: how to trick Potter into thinking I’m a good person.”

“I don’t think we need to trick anyone, Malfoy... you can just like—be a good person, full stop. You’re like…halfway there? Sometimes.”

“No one has that much time on their hands,” Malfoy sniffs, waving his hand in dismissal.

“You don’t necessarily have to be good, pretending or otherwise,” Luna says, taking her place next to Draco and taking his hands into hers. “I think Harry likes a bit of acerbity. We could just invite Harry over for dinner here in the greenhouse. He already loves the place. We could make it just a touch fancier even, fairy lights, ambient music, bat wing garlands…”

“Wait, what--”

Luna goes on, ignoring Neville. “Neville has a lovely vegetable garden out in the back too. Perfect for a home cooked meal! Harry will really be impressed.”

Malfoy blinks. “That’s it?”

Luna nods.“That’s it.” 

Neville does not believe for a second that ‘that’s it’. It was much too simple a plan to end perfectly. Something had to be wrong, something big.

But in the moment, he’s seduced by the idea. Something one and done that wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours of work at most. He could live with that.

“Harry likes the simple stuff, the time put into something that makes him feel like he’s cared for.” Neville adds.

Malfoy frowns at that, looking at his hands. ‘You two honestly think this would work?’ he says quietly, the faintest bit of hope in his voice.

Luna beams, “without a doubt.”

* * *

“What do you mean you thought we had everything under control?!”

Malfoy sighs, drumming his hands on the decadent table the trio had spent the better part of the afternoon setting up. “I just thought you two knew how to cook. Why would anyone suggest a home cooked meal otherwise?”

Luna and Neville looked at each other, then back at Malfoy.

“House-elves?”

Draco crosses his arms, “We only have the one left, and she’s having the day off. What about you two?”

Neville grimaces. “My grandmother’s would lord this over my head until my dying day if I asked him to help on such short notice.”

Luna shakes her head. “We’ve never had any. I _do_ know how to make a devil’s thorn and raw puffer fish salad....” She trails off, looking at the expressions on both Malfoy and Neville’s faces.

The nervous but excited atmosphere they had cultivated when folding the white cloth napkins into intricate birds and summoning glowing orbs of dim candlelight floating above the table was completely gone. They exchange grim looks, and the silence between them is deafening.

“This will all work out in the end,” Luna says, finally breaking the silence, “I’ll pop home to see if dad has any ideas,” she offers, disapparating immediately.

Malfoy wheels around to face Neville. “Why do you have a vegetable garden if you don’t even _cook_?” Draco accuses him as soon as she leaves.

“I like growing them! Doesn’t mean I know what to do with them! Most go to Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron , and sometimes Mrs. Weasley comes by or a client takes some, but I mean...” Neville shakes his head. “That isn’t the point! How did none of us remember to sort out the food?”

They both grimace, knowing full well what the answer is. Living with house elves for most of their lives meant neither one ever had to step into the kitchen to survive, depending on the elves to feed them instead. It was useless to point fingers at this point, anything they’d say about the other could easily be flipped back onto themselves. 

Luna pops back into view, now cradling a giant tome against her chest.

“Papa wasn’t home, but I did find this. There’s bound to be something we can try in this, right?” She lifts the book up to let them read the title: **_Cooking Magic! Easy Meals in Three Spells or Less!_ **

“The part I’m more concerned about is if we’ll even manage to make it,” Malfoy frowns, opening up the two bottom cabinets next to the stove, his face twisting even further upon finding only old gardening gloves and tarp stashed inside.

“Nothing? How is there nothing to cook _with_?”

“Because this is a greenhouse, not a restaurant!”

Luna’s flipping through the cookbook, slowly reading through every ingredient, her eyebrows furrowing further and further.

“We don’t seem to have even half of the ingredients they’re listing.” She reports.

“Like what?”

“Salt, for one.”

Neville covers his face with his hands.

Malfoy looks wary, “And when did you say Potter was arriving?”

Luna doesn’t look up from scanning the book. “In about five minutes.”

“Five…” Malfoy inhales sharply, before getting up to pace around the tiny space in front of the stove, glaring at the vegetables sitting innocently on the table as if they had said something rude not only about his mother, but his entire matrilineal lineage. “Unbelievable, three grown adults baffled by _tomatoes_ of all things,” he mumbles under his breath, knuckles grinding against his forehead in frustration.

Luna tilts her head. “It’s not all bad. At least the dining area looks nice.”

“Yes, Lovegood, it does, however it still has exactly zero food on it!”

Luna closes her book with a snap, and looks up serenely. “Takeout, then?”

Malfoy looks like he’s about to faint.

Neville throws up a hand, shrugging. “Well, we’re running out of options here and--”

“Nev? Hello? Am I late? I brought wine!”

The group freezes, as they watch Harry stroll in, stopping still as he takes in the raw vegetables on the counter, turning towards the decorated dining table, then back at his friends, beaming. “Oh brilliant, we’re cooking together!”

“That’s exactly right,” Luna smiles, infinitely serene, “Though we don’t have some of the ingredients, would you mind going back out to get them?”

Harry shrugs, “no worries, whatcha need?”

Neville and Malfoy freezes, but Luna taps her cheek as if deep in thought, “whatever you think we need.”

Harry surveys the spread in front of him, snapping his fingers.

“Right, I think I can work with this. Wash the veggies for me would you? Be back in a few.”

Luna and Neville turn towards each other, giving each other a short nod, as Neville clamps a hand onto Malfoy’s shoulder, before pushing him forwards. “Take Malfoy with you, yeah? He’s been a complete nightmare all afternoon.”

The glare Malfoy sends him would have killed him on the spot if Malfoy’s face wasn’t completely phoenix plume red, destroying the murderous effect entirely. “Longbottom, you _traitor_.”

“Godspeed, Harry,” Neville winks at Harry who laughs in kind. 

“Alright then, Malfoy, ready to hit Muggle London?”

“Absolutely not.” Malfoy immediately replies, but he stiffly follows Harry out the door anyways, as Luna and Neville heave a sigh.

“I can’t believe Harry fell for that.” Neville admits.

“I don’t think he did, just that he was kind enough to not bring it up.” Luna smiles, sliding the cookbook onto a stool, pleased with herself.

* * *

A half an hour passes before the store’s front door opens again, the pungent scent of fried foods reminding Neville that he hasn’t eaten more than a slice of toast since breakfast. 

“Managed to find a fish and chips place open while we looked for a shop. I couldn’t get the really good stuff, but I did manage to find olive oil in the end,” Harry mentions, taking his groceries out of the bag.

“How was it?” Neville asks, as Luna pulls out a chair for Malfoy, staggering in behind Harry.

Malfoy’s eyes were still glazed over as he slumped into the offered seat. “I was nearly trampled by a glowing, screeching hearse, so you tell me.”

Harry sidles up to Malfoy, clapping him on the shoulder. “You did well! Just try not to dart into traffic like that again, and you’re golden.”

“I should hope I never have to risk life and limb for greasy chips ever again,” Malfoy shoots back, which only makes Harry grin wider.

“And now, for my next trick…” Harry declares, raising a hand, he levitates the vegetables until they circle above the table while Harry unscrews the cap off of the generic brand olive oil and tears open the package of salt. A glob of oil elongates into a thin ring above the vegetables as the salt floats up to form a hexagonal lattice. With a quick snap of his fingers, the ingredients smash together to form a mini cyclone, whirling in mid-air for fifteen seconds, before splitting evenly between four bowls.

“Show-off.” Malfoy shakes his head as Harry bows extra low in response as Luna and Neville clap, eagerly transferring the bowls onto the dining table.

It’s not a meal befitting the decadent table spread,but as they ate the vinegar soaked chips and buttery fish, paired with the cooling, hearty gazpacho, the tension finally dissipated from the group as they laughed and talked. Neville’s eyes catch Luna’s, his friend sending him a wink as she gestures with a pinky at Harry and Draco bickering over something inane, but with their chairs pushed closer, heads leaned in, both of them with faint grins and ruddy cheeks.

“Cheers,” Neville laughs, holding up his mug, clinking it against Luna’s champagne flute, feeling particularly accomplished.

* * *

“Mate, you alright?” Neville frowns, pointing at Harry’s face as he apparates in for afternoon tea.

“What? Ah, yeah. Perfectly fine.” Harry gingerly presses his fingers against his cheek, just above his bruise. “Occupational hazard.”

Neville’s seen Harry far more injured than this, but it never made him worry any less. “You need ice or something, or--” Neville’s cut off by Draco apparating in as well, robe billowing behind him as he takes long strides towards the sitting area.

“Longbottom, your assistance, if you please. I managed to find a rare tea farm that only yields 40 grams of the finest tea leaves per year, and--” Draco stops, gaping straight at Harry.

“Um, hi?”

“What the hell is _that_?” Draco demands furiously.

“Oh, this?” Harry attempts a laugh, before looking sheepish. “Er, well, it turns out that when you disarm a witch of her wand, she still has the ability to punch you in the face?”

Draco huffs, striding his way towards Harry. “You are _impossible_ , Potter. I swear, how did that sham of a Head Auror even let you leave the premises when you look like you got clobbered by a troll.”

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Harry protests.

Draco smacks the hand shielding the bruise away, lifting his wand to do a quick diagnostics check.

“This really isn’t anything to write home about, it gets plenty more dicey out in the field.” Harry supplies.

“Is that somehow supposed to assuage me?” Draco bites, even as he flicks his wand up, the bruise on Harry’s face fading slightly.

“Maybe,” Harry admits, his fingers laced together. “Just didn’t want you to worry about me.”

Draco frowns, lowering his wand.

“I’m afraid that might be impossible at this point,” he quietly admits, before turning tail and disapparating away.

* * *

March leaves little time for Neville to entertain his guests, now completely focused on planting. Luna’s perched in the writing alcove, and for a few hours, the only sounds he hears is the scrape of quill on parchment.

His focus is broken when brisk footsteps pass him, the sounds of leaves rustling as someone makes their way past him, and Neville looks up to find Draco flustered, barely sparing Luna and him a glance as he resolutely stares at the floor so he wouldn’t trip while apparating away.

Luna tilts her head and Neville nods in reply, before watching Luna pop out of existence to find Malfoy. Neville rises to his feet, finding Harry alone in the sitting area.

“Everything ok, mate?” He asks, gently touching Harry’s shoulder.

Harry blankly looks down at his tea, swirling the mug slightly in his hands.

“I asked him out,” Harry declares while staring at the floor.

Neville scoots closer, “Yeah?”

“And I guess…” Harry shrugs, “well, maybe he doesn’t think of me that way. And that’s fine, but we didn’t talk for a while and then he left saying he’ll meet me again next week? I mean, what’s that all about?”

“So he still wants to be friends.” Neville surmises. _Or he’s a huge coward_ , he thinks privately.

“But he seemed so…unsettled.” Harry frowns. “I didn’t want to scare him off, but I’m afraid he’s just going to make it into a whole thing and—” Harry sighs, “I really shouldn’t have opened my mouth, should I?”

“If I know Malfoy, he’s probably out of his element. He’s kind of skittish... like a cat,” Neville offers with a small smile. “A great big hissy cat that hides and bites even if he likes you. Just need to give him some time to digest it all.”

Harry doesn’t seem convinced, giving Neville a worried look.

Neville shrugs, “you know, he’s basically been nothing but a pain in the arse, but he’s like—chronically fond of you. I think it’s just a case of him planning and scheming for so long that he didn’t actually think about what he’d do when he actually got your attention.”

Harry hangs his head, as he nervously cards his fingers through his locks. “I just can’t help but feel I royally fucked up everything.”

Neville rests a hand on Harry’s back, patting him gently. “For what it’s worth, I’m betting Malfoy’s thinking the same thing.

* * *

Draco comes shuffling in next Tuesday afternoon, flanked by a confident gold and black plumed peacock.

“Oh, Draco,” Luna sighs, her hand gently covering up her mouth, the bird strutting in front of her imperiously. The bird easily comes up to Neville’s chest, and he nervously but steadfastly stares back into its beady, haughty eyes as it sizes him up, before finding him dull and snackless, and strutting away.

“You do know Harry’s not going to get the context of it, right?” Neville looks to the side, head tilting towards the massive bird.

“He has a _name_ , thank you very much,” Draco huffs, even as his face flares once more in tell-tale red.

It was an archaic pureblood tradition, a suitor presenting the symbol of the family crest to formally declare their intent to court. None but the strictest pureblood families still practice it, its legacy only found in history books and wizarding fairy tales.

“Mother said that if I was going to….” He struggles with the next word, “ _pursue_ Potter, I might as well do it properly.”

Neville shrugs, “I mean, sure, but you’re going to have to explain why you brought the family peacock here and—hey!” Neville yelps, as the bird pecks at a fern. Draco distractedly dumps some sunflower seeds on the floor, and the bird leaves Neville’s plants alone in favor of snacks.

“What? What do you mean?!” Draco looks aghast, nearly dropping the bag of seeds.

“You do know like, Harry was brought up by muggles, right?”

“I didn’t expect Potter to be _that_ oblivious,” Malfoy mutters to himself, horror dawning on his face.

Luna looks thoughtful, tapping her wand against her cheek as she studies the peacock pecking at the floor. “Perhaps we could broadcast Draco’s intent directly on him,” she hums, “Harry certainly can’t ignore large pink hearts on his plumage, can he?”

“Absolutely not, Lovegood!” Draco yells. “Orion is of the finest stock, his lineage spans back centuries—”

“It would only have been temporary,” Luna sighs, but defers to Draco and tucks her wand back into her hair .

Malfoy’s bristling, possibly about to launch into a lengthy lecture on peacock breeding but is thankfully interrupted as Harry strolls in with a short cheery wave at the group before him.

“Hey guys, I—” Harry stops, staring at the proud peacock now strutting confidently right up to him, “new pet, Neville?”

“Not mine,” Neville shrugs, looking over at Malfoy who’s pretty much vibrating in place.

“He’s…mine.” Malfoy manages out, barely managing to look at Harry.

“Handsome boy, aren’t you?” Harry grins, leaning down and curling his hand to let his knuckles brush against the peacock’s head, careful to skirt around its head feathers. The peacock leans against his touch, uncannily patient and still. It follows Harry back to his regular seat, the one with red throw pillows and a long cylindrical cushion, before flutter-hopping up onto his lap and lifting its slender neck up so it rests against his shoulder.

“Hello there,” Harry laughs, before squirming slightly as the peacock spins in place to make itself comfortable, its talons digging into his leg, the rest of its tail feathers draping off and down Harry’s right leg.

“Orion! Stop that!” Malfoy hisses, completely mortified at his bird.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! He’s just a friendly guy, huh?” Harry waves Malfoy off, who’s hovering over him, looking seconds away from grabbing the bird and fleeing the scene.

“Seems very attached to you, Harry,” Luna says diplomatically, and Neville’s burying his face into her shoulder, trying not to laugh directly into Malfoy’s face.

“I didn’t know peacocks could be cuddly ,” Harry admits, as the bird gently butts his head against his neck, demanding pets. 

“They usually aren’t,” Neville says, “at least--”

“I accept.” Draco interrupts.

Everyone turns towards him, wide-eyed. 

“What?” Harry strangles out.

Draco straightens up, though his eyes dart from the floor to Harry’s face. “I accept….your courtship.” He sneaks a look up towards Luna and Neville, the two sending him thumbs up.

Harry flushes. “I, um?”

Draco waits a beat. “This is typically when you officially accept Orion as part of your estate menagerie on a conditional basis, and that I should anticipate a reciprocal addition to my own collection.”

Harry gapes, trying to assess the situation. “Did you just tell me I have to own this peacock to date you? And that I need to find a pet for you as well?”

“Well,” Malfoy stammers, “Technically yes, but also no, if you choose not to, there’s a stringent ceremony to present eight family heirlooms to declare my sincerity that I would need at least a year to prepare for, after which--”

“Malfoy, let me just try this again: could we just get dinner sometimes together? _Without_ your emotional support peacock?” Harry asks, even as he’s petting Orion’s feathers.

“He’s not my--” Draco starts, but sighs at Harry’s put upon expression. “I suppose that is amendable.”

“Yeah?” Harry brightens.

“If it pleases you,” Draco sighs, feigning nonchalance, though it’s not enough to hide the softness in his eyes as he looks at Harry.

* * *

“Longbottom? Longbottom!”

Neville sticks his head up over the canopy of Shivering Ivies with Luna standing on her tiptoes to see over his shoulder.

“Malfoy? We’re over here, what’s going on—”

Malfoy rounds the corner with a haunted look on his face, the scent of bright, bitter herbs clinging onto him. “Mugworts. I need as many as you can spare,” Malfoy demands imperiously, though it’s impossible to ignore the tremor in his voice.

Neville grimaces, it’s the first time he’s seen Malfoy so off-kilter, which was saying something, considering the last few months. Something terrible must have happened.

“R-right,” Neville nods, leading the way. He thinks he has a clue of what Malfoy might need them for, but he asks to make sure. “And you’re looking to make--?”

“Blood replenishing potion.” Malfoy cuts him off, his face pale. “Potter was admitted two hours ago, lacerations up and down the chest and back-- he and his Auror team managed to clear out my stock that should’ve lasted at least a month, but he’s still-- they’re doing all they can to stabilize--they’re not telling me anything, but--”

Luna wraps her arms around Malfoy’s shoulders while shooting Neville an anxious grimace. 

“Steady on,” Neville murmurs, shaking his head to stop the raw stab of fear from gripping him as well, leaving Luna with Malfoy to sprint towards his mugworts. He makes it halfway before stopping and doubling back, heading into his experimental greenhouse instead. The lights inside were dimmed to a dark red, but it was enough to let him safely make his way through the hybrids and delicate saplings he’s been cultivating. He takes out a pair of shears from his tool belt and snips a few small ephemeral, wispy flowers off their stem. They were not in full bloom; but they’ll have to do.

Careful to not expose them to any light, he quickly tips the flowers into a cloth bag, tying it up with a quick spell to hurry back outside where Malfoy still has his eyes closed, gripping Luna’s hand as she gently counts his breaths for him.

“Malfoy, here, it’s Evening Glow.” Neville gasps, thrusting the small pouch at the potioneer, as Malfoy’s eyes snap open to register what’s in front of him.

“Longbottom, but—they only bloom every ten years-- how on earth did you manage to grow them in London of all places--”

“Let’s save the shoptalk for later, Malfoy! Replace the mugworts with these, they’re nearly five times more potent,” Neville instructs, scrabbling for a quill before scribbling the instructions on a spare bit of parchment lying on a worktable nearby, “careful to add them in one petal at a time, discard the stems. Dosage should be reduced by three-quarters, and your brewing time by half, should buy the healers much more time than the mugworts will.”

Malfoy shakes his head, still amazed. “Since when were you so knowledgeable at potions—”

“Since my livelihood depends on it, genius, now get moving!” Neville barks. Malfoy disapparates without another word, and both Neville and Luna let out a rattling, harrowing sigh.

“They’ll be fine, Draco will pull through for Harry,” Luna says, placing a soft hand on Neville’s arm as his shoulders sag, the adrenaline ebbing away.

Neville turns towards her, softly smiling back as he takes her hand in his. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

It’s been a week, and after sending a quick owl to Malfoy confirming that yes, Harry’s fine, and yes, he’s still at Mungo’s, Neville takes the day off and spends the morning carefully plucking the finest flowers from his personal flower garden. There’s marigolds and daisies and daffodils, strong, bright, and cheerful, and Neville takes the time to arrange them with care. He digs through his cabinet drawers for his old Ministry identification card, the one he uses for his yearly renewal of his contract with Mungo’s and the Ministry, mostly used these days to avoid being buffeted at every turn when trying to visit Harry at Mungo’s.

He’s about to open the door when through the glass, he spies Malfoy already by Harry’s bedside. Harry looks thinner, frailer, but in high spirits, laughing at whatever Malfoy said , and Neville can’t help but notice the way their hands were laced together. He unconsciously presses the flowers against his chest, feeling a little embarrassed for accidentally seeing such a private, gentle moment but quietly thrilled for his friends, nevertheless.

A soft hand alights on his shoulder, and Nevile turns to find Luna clutching a handsome hardcover that she’s wrapped up in colorful ribbons. She peers into the room as well, her eyes alight with relief. “They look so happy.” She murmurs.

Neville’s heart feels fit to burst. “Yeah, they do.”

“Longbottom! For all of our sakes, please don’t block the entrance!”, comes a screech from behind Neville, and he turns to find Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini behind him, carrying giant bouquets of their own. Parkinson foists her own flowers onto Blaise, swishing her wand to forcefully bang the door open and shoving at Neville’s shoulders to frog march him into the room. “There! We! Go!” She huffs, “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?!” She stops dead upon seeing Malfoy and her stormy visage turns on a dime as she places a hand on Draco’s arm and a kiss onto his cheek. “Hello, Dray,” she hums, before using a foot to hook Malfoy’s chair and drag it back far enough to scoot her way in front of him, flinging her arms around Harry. “POTTER!”

Neville and Malfoy both wince at the volume, as they watch the woman wrap up Harry in a bone crushing hug.

“Pans! Hey...kinda need to…breathe...” Harry chokes out as Blaise helpfully laughs at them as he transfigures a couple of used mugs into cut glass vases, busying himself with arranging them and seemingly unperturbed at the whole situation.

Neville turns to Malfoy. “Did you…know?”

Malfoy shakes his head, baffled. “Not in the slightest.” Pansy has since backed off, though still sitting on the edge of the bed, giving Harry a light whap on the head.

“What did we tell you! You’ve got an entire department ready and willing to die for you, you don’t rush in all by yourself when other people are there to be your meat shields.”

“Pans! My coworkers aren’t meat shields!”

Blaise surges forward, clasping Harry’s hand in his own, “you’ve given us both quite the fright, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, sorry, mate,” Harry looks up sheepishly at Blaise before inviting the tall man in for a hug.

“About time this layabout showed up,” Malfoy announces to Harry with a grin as Neville steps forward, the potioneer’s face open and grateful.

“You absolutely saved my hide last week, Longbottom, I can’t believe you had Evening Glow of that kind of potency hidden away like that. ”

“I only know what to do in theory, I’d probably somehow drown myself in the cauldron if I had to actually brew it,” Neville jokes, but Draco shakes his head, huffing out a withering sigh. “Do try to not sound so humble, Longbottom, it’s distressingly gauche.”

Harry smiles up at Neville, “Hey Nev.” Holding out his arms for both Luna and Neville to step into his embrace, he squeezes his friends against him as he whispers out a tight, breathless “ _thank you_.”

“Anything for you,” Luna whispers back, and Neville finds himself nodding, heart full. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of being held by two of his favorite people in the world.

“Feeling better?” Neville asks, pulling back slightly to look at his friend.

Harry shifts his attention at Malfoy, smiling softly. “I am now.”

“Spare us,” Pansy groans, resting her chin against Harry’s shoulder as Neville and Luna pull away. “You’re far too starry eyed for your own good, Potter, it was already nauseating enough having to hear about it, much less see it in person.”

“You too?” Neville asks, which has Draco spluttering indignantly.

“Who do you think had to suffer through hours of Potter waxing lyrical on the angle of Draco’s jaw?” Blaise smirks, sliding into the spot on the bed next to Neville, sending him a wink as Harry chucks a pillow at his head.

“Now that you mention it,” Pansy purrs, dropping in between Neville and Luna, swinging her arms around both of their shoulders, “you two must have had to sit through all of Draco’s pointless theatrics. I simply must hear all about it.”

Draco gasps, “Parkinson, you absolute--”

But Harry tugs softly on Draco’s hand, reeling him back to press his lips onto Draco’s knuckles. Draco loses his ire, smiling shyly back at Harry.

“Maybe if we leave now, yeah?” Neville suggests, pointing at the two men who were clearly in their own little world. “It’ll probably take awhile to get through how much of a hassle these two have been for the past few months.” Neville fondly says. Pansy barks out a laugh, thrilled at the prospect of a full afternoon of gossip.

“Lead the way, Longbottom.”

**Author's Note:**

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